I have heard stories
of gas lights and
cobble streets

their glare glowing,
amber dreams,
holding tight,
screaming

as we slip into a
stupor, rattling
windows

the hunted and the
haunted, stumbling
across these *****
stones

shoes creek, old
and broken,
and no one.
No one.

No one

hopes for the rays
of an orange sun,
the smell of
Spring rain

or victory

I do not enjoy
your anesthetized
clean pictures
of the Victorian past
with your fantasies
about nobility
and high society.

The truth is *****.
The people were poor,
and the poetry spoke truth.

It did not cover up such pains,
but placed them on display
in word play
to say,
“We are human and we are here.”

So proudly we stand by liberty's side
She's fraught with lividity
With no life in her eyes
We are plagued with insanity
So we can't see this disgust
So blinded by grief
That this is what has become of us!
Posing the corpse of our beloved mother...

Searching for an answer that cannot be found
Too reluctant, too proud to put her corpse in the ground
A picture is taken, we smile so wide
You can't even tell that liberty has died

Cursed is the seed of our creation...
Our mothers not too rotten for manipulation
We try to conceive an infant nation
But a dead womb can only host...
A carrion infestation

"Why mother, why did you have to die?"
Too much malediction had poisoned her mind
Abused by strangers to create a home
Thus killing the only mother we've ever known
How is a nation that claims to be free
A nation of lepers, of beggars, disease?
Because of insanity we cannot see the disgust
Of this Mourning Portrait of America!

“Half sick of shadows,” cried the Lady of Shalott,
half sick of darkness growing, doorways
twisting, with faces grotesque on yellow wallpaper

and speaking woe in whispers passed
dream-thin through limbs and veins and minds
because a window is a stop sign until

opened, and locks are stitches sewing chapped lips
tense as the web woven, intricate designs
layered vibrant color on a lonely loom in a tower

otherwise lightless, heavy with pressure,
bearing down on the Lady of Shalott and her art--
made up in the image of Camelot.

Had I lived in Victorian era
I would've been a lamplighter

I like poking holes
in the darkness

Tip Your hat
And curtsy low
The masses so mandate absolute guile
A handshake, a smile, a proper and refined bow!
To adorn thy head and semble wit
And do your best!
Take pride with etiquette
If not informed
Ye won't last a mile
And differentiation between animals distinguishes you,
Resplendent child
Wash your hair and underclothes with soap
Lest ye resemble sow
And goodness dear
Have I forgotten now?
Always remember to smile!
So I'll take your Winter clothes with zest
I'll scramble on point
No unruly mess
Oh, did i forget your coat?
No, I've got it, relax, care for a smoke?
My apologies, please forgive my latency
It must be warm in here for my blood
In fact...
Boiling over kettle within
Prevent me from committing sin
I do wish to vent
Pick up this pen
And release red wells from his dainty, fragile neck
Or...
The underbelly. It's beknownst to me entrails are thick
Now whatever shall I do with this fresh clutter?
I'll act for free, so cordially!
With my chivalrous lines
But can you, my friend, respond in kind?
After all, it's only common courtesy
It's over now, my fantasy
It dissipates with urgency
And this is my confession
Yes
Imbibed in me from every grueling, tedious lesson
An implication of uniformity
The daydreams borne from the perfunctory

11 /14

Cloaks of Shadows hide me away,
Don't Let the monsters get me today.
I swear a’ oath, of blood and truth.
Pay I shall, so do not sway.
Eat me later, for I very prefer you.
To fall in your depths, lost forever in content.
Why not, must I say?
But Alas to Death you shall hand me over.
A friend now, but later foe.
For a predator to all, you sure are.
Cloaks of shadows do not care.
To those who listen, beware.

When I peer into those eyes, so full of life
I ask did you have a name, or is it long since lost.
Did your mother hold you and call you pet, or
Were you the forgotten one, left to fend?
Where you presented wooden soldiers, for
One remembered birthday long, long ago.
Do I see a soldier boy, fighting in a field?
That’s long, long forgotten in a distant land
When I look into those eyes, please remember
That I have forgotten you.